


Mismatched to Perfection

by crassenoughtocare



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-27
Updated: 2011-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-28 06:30:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crassenoughtocare/pseuds/crassenoughtocare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To call them strange would be a grievous understatement...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mismatched to Perfection

To call them strange would be a grievous understatement.

The Grand Highblood was huge, towering over almost everyone else even before you took his hair and horns into account. Skinny and awkwardly lanky his youth, time had been very kind to the indigo, giving him broad shoulders and a lean muscled body designed for a predator.

She, on the other hand, hadn't grown since she was seven. And it had been a long, long time since she was seven. Looking at her petite form, all soft curves capped in tiny feet and slender hands, one would never expect her to be the more dangerous of the two.

To see them together was almost comical. They were mismatched to perfection, big and small, high and low, united in blood, destruction, and insanity.

He fell for her as a boy, enchanted with the demoness and her penchant for elegant chaos. There was something alluring about a woman who could disembowel a man with a snap. Her blood almost ended it before it started, but he figured the hemospectrum didn't apply to demons, and the fact that the lowest of the low was striking fear in to the hearts of the highest of the high was endlessly hilarious.

After all the sweeps they had known each other, the others face had grown more than familiar, and their bodies followed suit. Yet somehow the Highblood never seemed to get over how small she was. The Demoness, who had wrought more havoc than he ever could, seemed hardly capable of such monstrosities up close. The top of her horns came just above his elbows, her frame delicate and light, vestigial chest bumps the only big thing about her. He dwarfed her, next to him she almost looked like a child, aside from her figure.

When she showed up at his camp, covered in at least three shades of blood (none of which were hers) and grinning like the purrbeast that mangled the twitterfowl,  he couldn't help but weaken and invite her in, easily tossing her over his shoulders. She cackled as the other subjugglators took it upon themselves to make a deal out of their leader taking the girl to his quarters. The Highblood ignored the fools and sat her on the table in his tent.

She crossed her legs primly, smiling at him coyly.

"Miss me?"

"No." He growled, twisting one of her long locks of hair between his claws. The demoness placed her hands around the back of his neck, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Yes you did. You don't fool me with the callous act." It was all he could do not to sigh. He hated when she was right, which was always.

But it was impossible _not_ to want to see her. They weren't afraid of each other, while the rest of the world seemed to think that jumping from a window was a better option than dealing with either of them.

When they had started this, whatever it was, she had told him that even people like them need pity. They were so young then, stupidly vulnerable to each other because they couldn't possibly be to anyone else. The worst part was that the vulnerability never went away.

"Who's blood is it this time?" He nodded toward her dress.

"Small skirmish between a few rebels and some imperial men. No one lived. I think it's all going to be over soon." He nodded, not questioning whose favor it would end in. He knew better than to ask her for the future.

She kissed him roughly, teeth scraping lips and tongues hungrily taking in the others mouth. The Highbloods hands found her hips, pulling her closer before wandering, exploring her like he didn't already know what he would find.

He would grope her till the day he died, she thought. In private, in public, in the middle of work, just pull her aside and get handsy. The Handmaid found it animalistic, and arousing. He cupped her chest through the fabric of her dress, picking buttons off one by one. Impatiently, she nudged him away, slipping out of her dress as he wrestled his clothes off. There wasn't much appeal in slowly peeling off layers, not after lunar cycles of not seeing each other.

Already he was on her again, mouth working down her neck to her breasts, leaving spots tinged red. She ground her slim hips against his, happy to find him just as aroused as she was. Her hand wrapped around his bulge, stroking him with slow, firm movements.

The first few times they had done this, it had been far more painful than pleasurable for her, but with practice she could soon take him with no issue. Of course he had grown since their early sweeps, but she had easily and happily accommodated the size change.

When one of his hands traveled from her rump to dip between her legs, she noted a change as he rubbed her nook.

"You cut your claws." The Highblood hummed in response, to busy with her ear to properly answer her. Yes, there was definitely no chance of her bleeding tonight, which was a bit of a relief to be honest. Two long fingers pushed inside her, drawing a pleased sigh from the Handmaid. She stoked him a bit more quickly, earning a low groan from the massive troll. Three fingers felt far better than two, and she worked her hips forward on to them, leaning her head against his chest as he kissed her horns.

It was all she could do not to whine when he removed his fingers, but she spread her legs wider and guided his bulge to her entrance, shivering as he pushed into her slowly.

"Fuck." She heard him hiss, staying still inside her for a moment. Finally, he started to move, torturously slow. He gripped her hips, pulling her in at the end of each thrust. The Handmaid leaned back on the table, propped up by her elbow, the other hand wrapped around the back of his neck.

The time they took to themselves was the one of the only times they weren't working on earning their reputations as monsters. It was nice, having a break, playing at pity and red romance in their own way, with blood and fire and tender moments away from the rest of the fucked up world.

"Will you stop torturing me?" She hissed, attempting to get him to pick up the pace and failing. Over her, he grinned and obliged. Now she needed the supporting elbow to keep her steady, every thrust rocking her body.

The Highblood leaned over her and bit at her neck, licking away any droplets of blood that fell. Her muscles worked around his bulge, tightening, reminding her how big he was, making her shudder. She looked down to where they joined, providing a visual for what her body told her.

With her legs in this position, spread wide, heels on the table, it was difficult to meet his thrusts, so she concentrated on internal movements and let him choose the pace. She kissed him almost desperately, begging him not to stop, to push her just a bit further.

Instead, he slowed, making her groan in frustration. He slammed into her with each thrust as before, but at a painfully slow pace, enough stimulation to keep her at her level of pleasure, but not to let her get any closer. The Handmaid closed her eyes and tried to relax, only to hear herself keen needily when the pad of his finger began to stroke her clit.

Thankfully soon he gripped her hips and slipped back into fucking her hard enough that all either could do was breathe raggedly and half moan. She felt like it may never stop, heat would build and build and she would die of desperation, the feel of his fingers on her clit was ecstasy.

His arm wrapped around her, pulling their bodies together as she came undone, back arched beneath him, a ragged moan her only sound. It was enough to push the Highblood over as well, mixing their genetic material together inside her.

Orgasm was followed by the sudden need for the pail. The Handmaid squirmed out from beneath him, awkwardly hopping to crouch over the bucket and release their genes. From behind her, the Highblood laughed.

"You look absolutely fucking ridiculous, running like that."  She scowled at him.

"Why don't you try holding a bucketful of genetic material in your seedflap and tell me how easy it is."

"Still funny," he declared. She sighed, set the pail aside, and went to wrap herself in his arms. He picked her up and moved to the nest like pile that replaced a recuperacoon. The Highblood curled around her, almost protective in the way he tucked her close. The Handmaid grinned and leaned her head against his shoulder.

"You know what looks stupid? Your paint looks stupid." She said, and his face was, in fact, a mess of black and white and grey.

"Fuck you, it's your fault," he grumbled, wiping his hand on his cheek and smearing the paint across her face, making both of them laugh.

"You're a madman and I hate you." She declared, attempting to fix her face and failing.

"Well you're a filthy peasant," he answered, non-chalant.

"You're losing your originality. And you wear a cod piece." He snorted with laughter and kissed her temple, avoiding the ends of her horns.

"I think I'll keep you." He murmured, stroking her side as lovingly as one like him could manage.

"Good," she said. "Because you're stuck with me anyways."


End file.
